2 weeks until you swap the pain in your back and cramping for the muddled fog of sleep deprivation that will come from a helpless, hungry new-born sleeping beside us.

Which is why I’m proposing we postpone valentines day this year.

With your inability to sit comfortably for more than about 20 minutes at a time, stomach the size of an apple and bladder the size of a pea, a meal out together might not be the most enjoyable way to spend your night.

The fact that I share my bed with you, 4 pillows, a body pillow, a heat pack and an enormous bump means that no matter how much of Ben Harper’s sexual healing cover I play, a night of valentines luuuuuuurve is way out of the question.

The fact that we have near fully exhausted the resource that is your parents kind assistance. Taking Miss 2.5 off your hands so you can sleep, or taking her to child care or to the park or to the shops or to anywhere that’s not at your feet asking you to clamber awkwardly down to the floor, means that getting them to do the equivalent of a double shift tomorrow night is probably out of the question. So whatever we will do will have us at home. And regardless you’ll probably be asleep by 9pm anyway.

So please accept this post as a Valentines rain cheque. We can have a crack at valentines when our next illiterate infant isn’t sucking the life (completely) out of you (and mostly) out of me. When we can go out and last past 8:30, when you can drink G&T’s like water and you can stay awake past the first four bars of our bridal waltz.